You were like a road in a forest in fall, always beautiful but shedding leaves like you shed layers of clothes on his bedroom floor. And in the same way there was always too many pictures of you on his phone, the sun shone through your hair like it shines through leaves on the trees by a road in fall, Auburn and red. Like birch trees your body is pale, with dark patches of colour. Some are birthmarks and some are scars you picked up along the way as you grew up, just like a birch tree. Somewhere on your body there's the first letter of my name, inked into your skin when we were teenagers because you believed we would be together forever, just like those stupid kids that engrave their names into tree trunks. You were like a road in a forest in fall. Shedding clothes like leaves on his bedroom floor. Just like the leaves you blew away in the breeze, and that's why you're grafted onto another branch that isn't mine. But you'll never stay because you know that your cells aren't compatible with his, and that eventually his body will push you out because your body is foreign to his bed and when he grows tired he'll toss you to the breeze again. You were like a road in a forest in fall. Aesthetically pleasing but nothing more.
